


Across the Fallen Bridge

by houseofpercypotter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bizarro! Draco, Death, F/M, Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Multiverse, Parallel Universes, Romance, Slytherin Hermione Granger, These Next Tags Have Major Chapter 1 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29762850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofpercypotter/pseuds/houseofpercypotter
Summary: While Harry is on the run, Hermione returns to Hogwarts for her 7th year. Forced to share a dormitory together, Head Boy Draco Malfoy and Head Girl Hermione Granger couldn’t loathe each other more. So, why is he proclaiming his love for her? And, what is she doing in his bed? // Follow them through the bizarre multiverse.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Across the Fallen Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> Pay careful attention to the headings of each section, and the time stamps in this chapter. I currently have 5 chapters written already, and posting will be every other week. 
> 
> I can’t thank [Black_Phoenix24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Phoenix24), [Canttouchthis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis), and [CharliPetidei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharliPetidei/pseuds/CharliPetidei), enough for their amazing alpha/beta work. This story wouldn't be what it is without them. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter has a trigger warning. If you may be triggered, check the ending notes for more details.

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—_

_I took the one less traveled by,_

_And that has made all the difference._

_-Robert Frost_

_Sunday, 5 June 2005 – 10:27 AM_

On the surface, they were very different people – that was clear from the moment they met in the Hogwarts Express corridor. They hadn’t even exchanged names, but he had sneered at her. 

The commonness of her muggle jeans and jumper, that lacked fine fabrics and perfect tailoring, plainly spoke of her inferior status. Her upbringing, with two working parents, and the expectation that she would have to do something so mundane as _working_ to make a living, would have never compared to his aristocratic status. It wasn’t worth his time to talk to her. He had pushed past her and sauntered down the corridor away from her and out of sight. 

That moment on the train had been in 1991; now it was 2005. Even fourteen extra years of acquaintance couldn’t change the nature of their first encounter. The worlds that they came from were so incompatible. 

As such, it was understandable that outsiders were confused when they started dating. (“ _If you need help Hermione, blink twice,_ ” they whispered). People were even more bewildered when they stayed together. (“ _Are you sure about this Hermione?”)._ And the general consensus when the wedding was announced was that Hermione Granger had officially lost it, and needed to be admitted to St. Mungos. ( _It was said that Ronald Weasley had burst into tears._ ) 

So, how _did_ they end up like this? 

Huddled together in their shared bed.

With her back pressed up against his chest. 

And her cold, cold, feet slipped between his legs.

All tucked underneath the soft Slytherin-green satin sheets. 

Most strikingly, what accompanied them in their bed was the feeling of complete bliss and contentment that bridged their two souls. 

As each person outside of their relationship slowly came to terms with the idea of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger as a couple, they had inevitably asked how it came to be.

Was there a story? Of course there was a story. Two people like Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger didn’t end up together without there being a story. But it wasn’t anyone’s business – it concerned her and Draco only. Still, when they asked, Hermione had always felt it polite to answer truthfully with what she knew in her heart. 

They would ask. She would smile up at Draco; he would smile back. Their eyes would crinkle at the corners and they would take each other's hands. And most importantly, Harry Potter would mimic vomiting behind their backs. 

“It was fate, of course.” 

* * *

_Hermione’s POV_

_World 2: Tuesday, 21 October 1997 –_ _7:30 AM_

It was a normal day. 

Hermione Granger woke up to the grating ringing and vibrating of her wand under her pillow. The spell was annoying, just like its muggle counterpart. That was the point, she supposed. Alarms were created with the goal of aggravating you so much that even while unconscious, you felt the need to shut the damn thing up.

Groaning and ignoring the urge to roll over and throw her wand across the room, she strained to _finally_ end the incessant noise, and flicked her wrist in the direction of the windows to let the sunlight pour in.

She really wished she was a morning person. She would have also settled for simply being someone whose anxiety levels didn’t spike at the prospect of being a few minutes late to class. At least then, it would be easy to justify burying her ears under her pillow and shutting her eyes for a few more minutes.

Alas, she wasn’t, and couldn’t, and so every morning, she dug deep to find the tiniest shred of conviction that allowed her to hoist her feet over the side of the bed and drag herself to the bathroom.

After the hot water didn’t jolt her awake as she had hoped it would, Hermione stepped out from the shower and back into the steam filled bathroom. Finally, a small smile. You’re supposed to celebrate the small joys, right? There weren’t many left, but at least soft towels were always something to be happy about.

Sufficiently dry, she began slipping on her clothes. Bra. Underwear. The rest of her uniform was back in the closet in her bedroom. Her feet took her there of their own accord.

Lazy and unwilling to undo the buttons on the once-used white shirt, she tried to slip her head through the small opening and immediately regretted it when she had to spend three minutes disentangling a curl from the topmost button. 

The rest of her uniform was tugged on piece by piece. Skirt, a red and gold tie to hang from her neck, socks, shoes, robes. Finally, a red pin that read, “Head Girl.”

Head Girl. She still couldn’t believe it. 

Severus Snape was a traitor. Draco Malfoy may have let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, but it was Snape who had ultimately killed Albus Dumbledore. And as a last insult to the memory of the late headmaster, Snape had found it fitting to appoint himself as the new replacement. 

He took _everything_ from them. School wasn’t safe, Harry was on the run, and undoubtedly all the secrets of the Order were being spread throughout Voldemort’s inner ranks. 

Hermione had aspired to be Head Girl, from the moment she read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_ . And as much as she hated Snape, at least he hadn’t taken this one thing away from her. It was the only thing she had to show for six years of hard work. She guessed that even their _wonderful_ headmaster couldn’t argue with the numbers that put her at the top of the class every year.

_“Tempus.” 7:57 AM_

She groaned. Thirty minutes definitely wouldn’t be enough time to eat and skim the Daily Prophet while fending off Ron’s ever-present last minute homework questions. She hoped he wouldn't have any. But she doubted it.

At a brisk pace, she exited the special dormitory that she shared with the unfavorable Head Boy. 

Peeves shouted obscenities as she ran through his stomach.

Eventually, she made it to the Great Hall, and was surprised to find that there was nobody at the Gryffindor table to bother her. It was about as good of a gift she could get at 8:03 AM, and in a much better mood now, she spread some marmalade on her toast, and opened the Daily Prophet that had been dropped into her lap.

Just toast. It wasn’t much, but she had learned that she couldn’t keep much food down while reading the horrific stories that graced the daily post each morning. She didn’t really know why she still bothered to check.

Each day, another raided Muggle town. 

Voldemort was slowly exterminating the scarcely remaining wisps of hope anyone dared to harbor. Allowing despair to claim the souls of the remaining resistance one by one. 

There was always another grim picture; a floating skull and snake hanging in the sky above a burning village. She certainly didn’t enjoy seeing the images, but she forced herself to choke it down with her toast every morning. 

The newspaper was her preferred medium of news, despite the unchecked, Pro-Voldemort, propaganda woven into each article. Ron was a different story, however. Ron would lock himself in the Gryffindor dormitories everyday at 5:20pm, cast a _muffliato_ , and turn on the shoddy radio that was normally hidden under both a disillusionment charm and a pile of dirty laundry. 

They were looking for the absence of names. Hermione’s greatest fear was seeing the name of that small, unassuming Australian town, added to the growing list of casualties.

They also didn’t want to learn about what would happen to Harry, if he was found. He was currently tucked away at an Order safehouse, somewhere far away from Hogwarts, far away from Voldemort. Even _Hermione and Ron_ didn’t know exactly where he was, and the only way to confirm he was safe was to scour through the lists of tragedies. 

The plan had been for the three of them to run off together to hunt Horcruxes, but somehow Lupin, with his wolfish hearing, had overheard them in Grimmauld Place making plans. He had run to the rest of the Order, who had told them in no uncertain terms that they were not to partake in this wild scavenger hunt until they formed a better plan. 

“You’re just children!” Lupin had shouted at them, pounding his fist against the kitchen table. The plan was poorly formed, the adults had berated them for days. 

The ministry was requiring all Muggleborns to register so that they could be tracked. As the most recognizable Muggleborn, surely, Hermione realized it was irresponsible to traipse around, unregistered, searching for Horcruxes. If they were spotted, all three of them would be killed on sight. 

No, Molly Weasley had insisted. They were much better off following ministry orders and returning to Hogwarts to learn as much as they could. How could they expect to defeat the darkest wizard in history without a full education? 

So, Hermione had registered as a Muggleborn under the corrupt Ministry of Magic, Ron had returned to school with her, and Harry had travelled to a safehouse to begin the hunt for the remaining Horcruxes.

It was certainly not what they wanted, but it was what was necessary. The Order had insisted, and they had adapted.

Turning her attention back to the morning paper, she held her breath, hoping that she wouldn’t find anything too horrific. Today though, there was an article by Rita Skeeter about Viktor Krum and some pureblood girl that he had been allegedly courting for a whole two days. The article featured a very agitated looking Bulgarian Seeker reaching angrily for the camera which was intruding on what was seemingly a personal moment between him and the girl.

It was odd, she thought. Surely there were more important things to report about? But this frivolous story, if you could even call it that, was the only refuge away from the constant bleakness that their lives had become. For the first time in weeks, Hermione scooped some scrambled eggs onto her plate.

It was laughable, really, how Rita Skeeter offered the only constant in all their lives. Even in the midst of a war, they could expect her to deliver the cheap, atrocious fiction that she had somehow managed to pass off as journalism.

Hermione didn’t bother to clean up the large clump of marmalade that she had accidentally dropped on a now very annoyed-looking Rita Skeeter portrait displayed next to the bolded headline. 

At 8:30, all the food in the Great Hall vanished, and she started to trek her way back to the heads’ dorms to grab her books before Charms class at 9:00.

It was a long walk back to the dorms, and it wasn’t safe to let her mind wander. Moody was right. Constant vigilance, she found, was necessary to survive Hogwarts through the Carrows’ reign of terror. 

A castle teeming with death eaters was not the safest place for someone like her, after all. But, as she finished climbing her 4th set of moving stairs and passed the portrait of a maiden with a soft smile, paddling herself across a serene lake, it still felt like the home she had known for the past six years.

It was unlikely anyone would be lurking in the shadows this early in the morning, looking for someone to torture. Usually, they liked to save it as a punishment.

Hermione wanted to feel safe. She wanted to pretend like this was the same Hogwarts that had nurtured her friendships and taught her the joys of the magical world. With the Rita Skeeter article this morning and the unusual peace that had fallen through the Great Hall and the corridors, it was easy for her to let her thoughts drift today. Just for a few minutes.

Stupid.

_“Tempus.” 8:33 AM_

She was mentally rehearsing the spell that they had learned last Charms class. What if there was a pop quiz? _Appare Vestigium._ Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t have time to scream as a firm hand grabbed her wrist, and pulled her behind the corner into a deserted alcove.

“Wha-“ But then her back was against the wall, someone’s hands were grasping her hair, and someone’s mouth was engulfing her own. For a few moments, Hermione was so shocked that she wasn’t being subjected to a _Crucio_ , that she was frozen in space, unable to do anything. 

The kiss… was not entirely unpleasant, but it was still wholly inappropriate as she had _no idea_ who this person was. For a moment, for some inexplicable reason, her body began to mold against her assailant, as if by muscle memory. But, as quickly as the onslaught started, it stopped, and she momentarily thought the ordeal was over.

It was immediately clear that she was wrong as lips started to trail down her neck. It had only been a few seconds, if that, since she was first pulled into the alcove. She finally finished gathering her thoughts, and forcefully pushed her attacker away. As the palm of her hand swiped across the face that was just on hers, a resounding crack echoed through the hall.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she started, but her eyes widened when she saw who owned the pair of lips that were just on her own.

Draco Malfoy’s grey eyes looked like they were watering a little, as he rubbed his palm against his reddening left cheek. “Hermione? Are you angry about something? If this is about last night, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I was just tired, but I’ve missed you today.” He made no move to get closer to her.

She gaped at him. She wanted to respond, but found herself at a loss for words. And then her mouth rounded in horror as her eyes travelled down from his face – she was unable to move her eyes away from his chest. 

His tie matched hers in red and gold, and pinned on his robe was a vibrantly red “Head Boy” badge.

* * *

_Draco’s POV_

_World 3: Tuesday, 21 October_ _1997 –_ _8:17 AM_

It was a normal day. 

Draco Malfoy woke up to the squawking of birds, and the waft of a cool breeze drifting through the window. He shoved his hand under his pillow, looking to grab his wand and spell the window shut, but found nothing there. 

It was lying several meters away, on the ground, no doubt from being thrown there in indignation when it started vibrating and blaring seventeen minutes earlier. 

The bird outside his window was clearly committed to precluding Draco from adequate sleep, as the rest of its family joined in on the ear-splitting ruckus. 

Accepting that sleep was no longer an option, he kicked off the green blankets, picked up his wand, and headed for the bathroom. Before stepping into the shower, he glared at the pile of pajamas laying on the ground that the head girl clearly couldn’t be bothered to move herself. 

He vanished them, because if she couldn’t clean up after herself, then she would face the consequences.

The hot water soothed his muscles and released some of the tension that waking up to a bloody bird had left him with. He stepped out of the shower.

“ _Tempus.” 8:33 AM_

By the time he had wrapped the towel around his waist, and started walking into his bedroom, he had decided that he was in a good enough mood to be bothered to go to his 9 AM Charms class.

Or at least, he _had_ been in a good enough mood.

Suffice to say, he no longer was, when he found a very naked Hermione Granger tucked into his bed. She definitely _hadn’t_ been there when he woke up.

“I _told you_ that I wanted to thank you for contacting Potter and Weasley about the Dark Lord,” Granger purred, patting the spot next to her on the bed. 

And suddenly, the fact that Hermione Granger was in his bed, a _naked_ Hermione Granger no less, and that she was talking about Harry Potter and Ron Weasley while making sexual innuendos was not his biggest problem. Not anymore, he gathered, as he zeroed in on the disturbingly _green_ badge on his bedside table adorned with the words “Head Girl.”

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Non-consensual kissing in this chapter. It ends immediately once the kisser realizes it is not well received. Other than this, there is no non-con in the rest of this story. 
> 
> Follow our socials:  
> Tumblr: [houseofpercypotter](https://houseofpercypotter.tumblr.com/)  
> Instagram: [houseofpercypotter](https://www.instagram.com/houseofpercypotter/?hl=en)


End file.
